Torching the Wood of Life
by FantasticallyFanatical
Summary: Gwen/Owen snippets across various episodes. Probably strong language, this is Torchwood after all.
1. Everything's changed

A/N: An old-school Torchwood fic, series 1 spoilers. I don't know if anyone even reads Gwen/Owen fics anymore, but I still write them so here goes nothing. Read, review and enjoy.

* * *

He'd known, from the moment she'd walked in with her hands full of pizza, that she was interesting. She had that look in her eye; half trepidation, half excitement, coupled with a face of beauty and an accent that made her somehow innocent. He knew he was staring, but he didn't stop; he physically couldn't stop himself from taking her in. He felt he was fully justified of course, this was his territory, his workplace and she was merely a visitor. Owen figured he may as well have his fun with her until Jack shovelled her off on her way and it was back to work, for everyone.

-

There's a part of him that wants her to remember, just so he can see her face one more time. It's become a struggle now, to fully picture her face; it keeps blending into other people who Owen can identify, and the more time goes on, the more he forgets her. The temptation is all there of course, the CCTV from that day but with that comes questions from Jack, questions he really can't quite answer. So he resorts to closing his eyes and remembering her voice instead, replaying the words she spoke over and over until they're ingrained to his memory, never to be forgotten.

-

He sits her down on his table and arches an eyebrow as she elicits a quirky sound; it turns out the metal's cold underneath her and sends a shiver up her spine. Taking note, his rubs his hand till they warm a little, then places one on the side of her face, shining his light into her eyes with his other.

"You're fine," Owen informs her, packing away his tools with a large amount of noise, "It's shock mainly."

Gwen didn't reply but merely nodded. Watching someone commit suicide after killing their supposed boss is not something she felt she'd ever get used to.

"What was she like? Suzie?" Gwen felt she should ask; it was polite, first and foremost, but it was more than that. Gwen needed to hear someone speak - anyone speak - because otherwise, the gun shot just kept replaying and replaying and relaying in her head, over and over and over.

"She was.." Owen falters. It shouldn't be hard to describe one his work colleagues, one of his very few work colleagues, but something seems to stop him. "Lonely, I guess. Kept herself to herself. Nice enough girl, though."

His words were fragmented and somehow broken, just like Gwen was now. Her face, younger than it had been in years, is lost amongst the cold, aloof features of Owen, Jack and Tosh. They're immune to it, she supposes but not her; she's got a heart and although it's taken a hit, it's still beating nonetheless. Unable to believe she's going to last long in this job, she sighs heavily and watches as Owen leaves her to it. Trying to grasp a comprehension of the world, Gwen at last admits defeat and goes home to normality. It may be fused with mediocrity, but she's just grateful Rhys doesn't own a gun. She's happy enough knowing he never will.

Drifting in a deep, tortured sleep, Gwen knows there's no going back now; everything's changed, whether she likes it or not.


	2. A new day?

"You know, it never even occurred to you that you could ask me for another dose of Retcon, did it?" Gwen was startled by the suggestion and even more startled that it came from Owen himself; they weren't exactly friends. Gwen merely shrugged, letting the cold air take her worries away as best she could. "Well, the offer's there," he continued, "But you won't take it."

"I won't?" Gwen arched an eyebrow, wondering how he could be so sure - the more she thought about it, the more tempting it became. This job - Torchwood - it was more than tough, it was all-consuming and Gwen wasn't sure she was ready to sign herself (and Rhys) up to a commitment that big.

"Nah," Owen shook his head, sitting beside Gwen on the bench, his collar turned up as a shield against the cold. "You've seen too much now."

Gwen painted on a quizzical look; he wasn't making much sense in what he was saying. Owen rolled his eyes and rubbed his hands, trying to conserve heat.

"Do you really want to forget all that?" Owen's head tilted towards the invisible lift, just visible a few hundred metres away. "The hours are shit, granted, but.."

Owen trailed off, wincing at the inability to find the words to explain what he meant.

"Somehow, it's worth it all?" Gwen finished for him, grinning as Owen tapped his head in appreciation. It wasn't much, but it was a start of mutual friendship, Gwen hoped.


	3. Human emotion

A/N: Another short one, I'm afraid, but there's not all that much to go on for these couple of eps. Will get longer though :)

* * *

"Owen? Are you alright?" Gwen's genuinely concerned; the other's don't understand - _can't_ understand - what he's feeling. They didn't see it, but admittedly neither did she. That's beside the point she tells herself, she felt something similar and that should be enough. Just not for Owen. He stares at her in the most degrading way but it doesn't deter her in the slightest. She's cornered him in the autopsy room so he's got no way of escape. He knows it and she knows it. So he's going to have to talk, one way or another.

"Fuck off, newbie. Like I'm going to get all sentimental. I'm Owen fucking Harper, I don't do emotions."

"Yes you do." She's quick to react, not even wincing at his crude language. He rolls his eyes and taps his feet, but she ignores it all, handling him like a troublesome child. "You're angry; that's an emotion you can't even control. The hatred for me, there's another."

"I don't hate you," Owen cuts in (a bit too fast and he mentally kicks himself), slightly shocked at her forwardness. Her words are meant with a harsh intensity, but her warm accent and searching eyes soften everything she says. She scoffs at his reply, a warm laugh behind her eyes.

"Yeah? You got a funny way of showing it." She shrugs, deciding she's had enough and leaves him to it. She's got her own demons to contend with and if he's set on keeping his bottled up, she's not going to force him otherwise. She's honestly not that bothered whether he likes her or not, but she can tell by his eyes that he's telling the truth; he doesn't hate her. There's not enough emotion in his eyes, not enough of a force in his answers or behind his words for hatred to surface. After all, is hate so different to love? Gwen's positive it's not and so comes to the conclusion that he's pretty much indifferent to her.

Either way, she's right and they both know it. Owen just doesn't want to admit it because well, he's Owen Harper. It's just not what he does.


	4. Victims

"Tell me about the cybermen." Why did he have to lumbered with her, the newbie? Always asking questions in her oh-so-Welsh accent that buried itself in his ears.

"You don't want to know." He tried to fob her off, send her running to precious Jack and ask him all the difficult questions. Or better still, he could shove her onto Ianto and get him to remember exactly what they did.

"Well funnily enough, I just asked." It was true though, she didn't really want to know. She just needed something else to think of because at the moment, her thoughts were tainted by Owen. The desperation in his frantic kisses, the way his fingertips had pressed against the back of her neck. The mere thought of it caused a pooling in her stomach, something that shouldn't have been there, just like his lips shouldn't have been on hers.

Owen sighed, and grabbed his keys. "Come on." His voice was hoarse after the events of the day, but who could blame him. He watched through the steel on the walls how she followed him blindly, head cocked as she struggled to take him all in. He was this anomaly, this danger zone and it should put her off but it only serves to intrigue her. She climbs into his car without a second thought, staring straight ahead as she fastens her seatbelt. She leaves her hand there a second too long, and as he reaches for the handbrake, his fingers brush over hers. She gasps inertly, and her blood pools once again. Her cheeks flush a brazen red and he pretends not to notice.

"Where are we going?" She finally finds a voice to speak, looking at him for the first time during the journey. It's dark outside and she can only really see his silhouette, but she doesn't mind. In fact, she prefers it because his eyes invade her privacy in ways she cannot stop.

"You'll see." There he goes again, with his mysterious ways and cryptic answers. She sighs sharply, but Owen merely smirks. It amuses him greatly that he has such a power over her, but he needs to be careful, because she has a hold over him too.

The car stops some twenty minutes later. He climbs out but she waits behind, thoughts racing through her head as he begins a walk down a darkened alley, sidelined with trees.

"Are you planning to murder me?" she calls as she clambers on after him, trying to inject a bit of humour to dissipate her fear, "'Cause if you are, I'd rather be drowned if it's all the same with you."

She can hear his laugh a few metres off and speeds up just enough to catch him up, without seeming desperate. He passes her a torch and fumbles around for one of his own, settling for phone-light when he realises he's left in the car.

"How much further?" She's beginning to worry again so he does all he can think of and reaches blindly for her hand, cupping his fingers tightly around her wrist. The pulse in his thumbs vibrates on her arm and she can't even try to ignore how it beats in time with her heart. Eventually they stop and he lets go of her arm, much to her irrepressible disappointment.

"That's all you need to know," he tells her, taking her torch and shining it over the patch of earth in front of them, adorned with half built gravestones and dying flowers.

"They're cybermen?" Gwen asks foolishly, blushing in the darkness but he doesn't even see.

"No, their victims." He tells it as it is, but it's so harsh upon her ears. She drops slowly to her knees and just feels the earth beneath them, her hand pulsating with the adrenaline from the day. "The cybermen were people once; their brains taken from their bodies and glued to a metal skeleton. In a sense, they were all victims."

He almost sounds sorry and it makes her want to cry. Her lip trembles and she bites it to stop herself crying, but ends up bleeding where the concentration becomes too much. She stays silent as she processes all this information, until her heart jumps when a warm hand lands on her neck. She turns and sees Owen standing above her, an odd smile on his face. Helping her up, he walks he back to the car. She notices he keeps his hands to himself again and she should be impressed but she feels somewhat let down. She fastens her belt once again, moving her hands quicker so as to not to falter at his touch. It's futile though, because as he climbs in and she makes the mistake of looking at him, before she realises what's happening his hand has moved towards her. His thumb swoops quickly across her bottom lip, wiping away a trickle of blood Gwen hadn't even noticed. He wipes it on his jeans absently and starts the car, watching as she stares ahead, her fingers dancing over her lips as she reflects upon his touch.

When he drops her home she squeezes his hand before silently getting out the car. He clears his throat at the unexpected gesture and nods as Rhys greets her at the door. He shouldn't be jealous but something inside him burns, so off he drives with a metallic thrum embedded in his brain. Closing his eyes as he hits the pillow, he awakes the next morning with his hand on his heart and Gwen's name on his lips.


	5. Small words

A/N: So, there's a _slight_ throwback to a Doctor Who ep in this, but I'm a major fan so it's to be expected.

* * *

The door to the autopsy room slammed shut, Owen inside. Gwen, on the outside, rolled her eyes and followed him in.

"He let her go." He doesn't acknowledge her presence with a greeting, but she didn't exactly expect one. "He handed her over to those fucking fairies and now wants us to just carry on, live our lives as if nothing happened?!"

His fist pounds the metal, hatred reverberating around the room but Gwen waits patiently for him to calm down. She'll always wait, he just hasn't realised it yet.

"What, and you would have done it differently?" Her enquiry silences him just for a moment as he truly thinks it over. She knows, from the pictures, that the little girl was safe but she supposed that shouldn't make a difference. She was stolen from her mother, who now had nothing to live for. How could anything compensate for that?

When Owen still doesn't answer Gwen decides against pressing the issue. It's mangling her brain enough as it is and she's a woman, so Owen's got no hope.

"Chips," she outbursts suddenly, and Owen paints on a face of confusion, eyes wide and curious. "Excuse me?"

"I want chips," Gwen motions to the door, ever so seriously. Deciding chips would work for him too, he grabbed his jacket and followed. "D'you think we should tell Ja-"

"Do you _really_ need to finish that question?" Owen interrupts, making it clear that she either chooses him or Jack, and right now, she chooses Owen. Somehow, she'll always choose Owen. Jack's just too indefinable, he's not tangible enough.

They eat chips (he has large, she settles for small) and they talk. Mainly about Rhys because Owen (almost) never discloses his past and all he really wants is to hear her speak.

"He's sweet, is our Rhys, but he's.." she trails off because she just can't finish that sentence. Owen notices the silence and glances up, catching her eyes searching his face. He searches hers back, trying (and failing) to gauge an idea of what she would have said had she not stopped herself. "He's going to be worrying where I am. I'd better go."

And with that, she's gone. Until she comes back twenty seconds later, placing a fiver on the table and then running off again, mouthing 'Bye!' from her car window. Owen breathes out a laugh because it's suddenly dawned on him what she was going to say. Or maybe what he hoped she was going to say. Either way, he lets his imagination flow, staying in the shop till closing where he finally scrounged a lift of a Scottish bartender some streets down.

"Aye, and I said to him, I said 'You don't let you son play wi' dolls, not unless you want him to turn out like a fucking fairy', but he was having none of it. I've not got a problem, don't get me wrong, but when you've got strong heritage like that, you want to carry it on, don't you wee lad?"

"Yeah," Owen agreed, handing over whatever change he had and exiting the car, "Couldn't agree more, mate."

Owen slept peacefully, for reasons he couldn't understand (Gwen), but when he awoke and felt a whispering near his ear, he remembered all that had happened and cursed the day he'd ever signed up to Torchwood.


	6. Suicide?

Being away from everything normal and involved in everything Torchwood should have started her alarm signals going crazy. No Rhys to run home to, no wall to hide behind. Just a flimsy tent and far too much freedom.

"Need a hand getting it up, Owen?" Gwen overhears and she shouldn't laugh, but something's exciting her stomach and she elicits a girly giggle that sounds nothing like herself. She watches his response, and then, just as she thinks he finished talking, he takes a risky glance over at her and sends her the smallest wink possible. Not noticeable to the others, but enough to let her know that he hasn't forgotten. How could he? She's been on his mind for weeks and Owen Harper is not usually that type of man.

She regrets even breaching the conversation. Owen was right, she did sound like she was eight and now all she had left was an awkward silence and far too many eyes on her face. His moment of contemplation had told her all she needed to know and there was no way she could have stopped him announcing their secret. _If looks could kill Owen Harper, you'd be bloody mincemeat_. That little smile he gives infuriates her further, as if this gave him some kind of enjoyment. This was Owen, of course it gave him enjoyment.

He almost wants to laugh when she announces she'll give him a hand. In any other circumstance, out would pop his crude sense of humour but even Owen keeps a lid on it this time. Why she doesn't accept his compliment, Owen cannot understand. Doesn't she realise he never gives them out? His 'borderline great' is another man's incredible, but she just doesn't see it. So he of course takes it to another level (or rather a lower level), but he's not expecting to be pushed up against a tree so hard she nearly knocks the feeling from right within him. Not content with letting her have one over on him, a quick role reversal leaves her underneath him and he can really invade her personal space and work his way in until she cries to be touched.

The longing in her eyes is satisfaction enough and it tells him all he needs to know; it's no longer a matter of if, but when. Not now though, as something serves to disrupt them. She's torn, he can tell, as her heart tells her to sod the stranger and kiss him like there's no tomorrow. But as usual, her head overrules and the moment they break apart, she's back in work mode and her minor blip is forgotten. For now.

*

She can't help but wonder whether he forgot about the keys because he was too busy thinking about her. _Oh, get a grip Gwen, don't be daft._

"Bet you thought you'd never be glad to see me," Owen tries to inject humour as he injects her for real. But he's wrong, because she's always glad to see him. Well, almost always. He can feel her hand gradually moving further and further towards his head, and whilst he ingrains the memory, he pretends not to notice. And then she wishes she hadn't seen it - Owen's first genuine smile as he comments on her and the metal he's just unburied. He knows she's getting closer, because she can't bear to look at him, and although the morality inside him tells him that it's gone on long enough, he ignores the warning because it's not what he wants._ She's _what he wants.

And then there comes that moment of horror. That sinking feeling that you just haven't had enough time, and the man you care for is about to be ripped from you without so much as a goodbye. So she does all she can think of, and points a gun at someone's head, something she thought she'd never have to do. And that's when he realises just how much she loves him (as a friend, perhaps as a lover, maybe even both.) She's delirious and she's wounded and she's swearing, all because she can't bear to lose him. And when he realises she'd probably give her life for him, because Gwen's got that good a heart, he tells her to stop. Because he's not worth that. Even if she thinks he is.

He stares at her as she hands over the gun, feeling guilty for the first time since he joined. She shouldn't be here, she should be tucked up at home, where she'd be safe. How did he manage to bring her into such a sick, twisted world? He keeps his eyes on hers because it's the only way he can protect her. The less she sees, the better she'll be (if she even survives, and Owen's not even sure of that.)

*

She walks to his flat without having ever been there before. She doesn't start out planning to go there, she just walks and walks, trying to forget. It's only when she notices the road name that she realises where she's ended up, and then it's decided for her. She's made it this far, so there's no point in going back.

His shirt fits her far too well, like they were made to fit along side each other. And he's never going to tell her, but he needs her just as much as she needs him. So he shows her, because that's all he's ever known. She doesn't even see it as an affair, because he consumes her every thought and that's more than an affair.

And they never want to stop, they want to live in that night forever, as the two of them combine, letting every single guard down and finally revealing their innermost secrets to each other.

It's not a sorry, and it's not a thank you; it's more than that and they both know it.


	7. Greeks bearing grief

It was the invasion, that was Gwen couldn't get her head around. Owen invaded her all the time, in more ways than one, but she wanted him to. With Tosh, it was different. There was, of course, a part of Gwen that wanted to know what it felt like, to hear what Owen really thought of her, what Jack really meant when he spoke. She wanted to know whether she permeated Owen's thoughts as much as he took over hers. He didn't want her dead, that was clear enough, but she needed concrete evidence because otherwise, what was the point? He had nothing to lose, but she, she had everything and she needed to know he realised.

"'I'm not going to stop'," Gwen spoke quietly, "That's what I told Tosh, that I should stop but I'm still not going to."

Not one for deep conversations, Owen sat and listened, because nothing he could say would change her mind anyway (not that he wanted to, why would he? Gwen was the best thing to happen to him in years.) But eventually, he spoke.

"Good."

"Good?" Her conversation had ended so long ago, his words sounded alien to her thoughts, as she contemplated ringing Rhys and forgetting how much Owen completed her.

"Yeah, good." He took her hand and kissed her palm, and the butterflies in her stomach multiplied as she watched him walk away. He wasn't taking her home with him tonight. Tosh's trip had taught them both that morality had a place in their lives, and whilst tomorrow would be a new day and she'd be counting the hours until she was with Owen again, tonight was hers and Rhys', and that's just the way it was.


	8. They keep kissing Gwen

The way Owen holds Gwen in his arms is far past friendship, and Jack knows there's no going back for the two of them, but he's too overjoyed at the fact Gwen's alive to care.

It was only at that moment of near-death that Owen realised how very alive Gwen made him feel. To come that close to losing her should warn him off; because at the end of the day, it's Rhys she (reluctantly) goes home to, so there will always come the day when he loses her completely. But for now, he cradles her close and doesn't care that her tears soak through his shirt right onto his chest. He'd let her drown his heart if it made her feel better. And when she grips tightly onto his arms, he holds her tightly back, trying to tell her that he'll always be there, just like he is now.

They both know this should be their wake up call; that life's too short to muck it all up for whatever it is they've become (not quite lovers, but far past friends). But it's like there's a bond shared between them and neither one is willing to be the one to break it.

Gwen doesn't go home to Rhys tonight, she chooses Owen because today she nearly died, and she can't just forget about it. It should make her spend every waking moment telling Rhys how much she loves him (because she does, she really does), but she finds herself watching Rosemary and Thyme in Owen's bed, as he brings her a cup of tea and beans on toast, with a kiss on the lips for afters.

"I don't know what I'd have done if I'd died," Gwen admits later, too tired to rephrase her misguided sentence, but Owen gauges her intent anyway. All of him wants to say, _I don't know what I'd have done either_, but that would let her know just how much he loves her, and she doesn't need that kind of headache. Not after the day they've all had. So he settles for humour, his forever faithful friend.

"Be dead?" She laughs, then suppresses a sob, and then proceeds to cry into his shoulder.

That night, he holds her in his arms until she falls to sleep, and it's the first time he's ever done that with Gwen. There's no talking, no action, just feelings because sometimes, that's all they need.


	9. Random Thoughts

He has to admire her work ethic, even if she was working on something that appeals to Owen almost as much as a back wax (which he had tried once before and vowed never to do so again. Ever.) It occurred to Owen, as he sat motionless at his desk, observing both Gwen and Tosh, that there was a great deal he liked about Gwen.

He liked the way her hair refused to sit in one singular style, and danced freely about her face depending on her (ever-changeable) mood. He liked the sincerity in her eyes that always told him the truth when her lips simply couldn't speak it. He liked her earthy sense of humour that only very rarely appeared, but made her more his parallel than anymore else.

He liked the way she remembered things about him, about them, that no one else would, (unlike Tosh, who ingrained all details to memory and could probably reel them off in chronological order if Owen asked. Which he never would. Far too odd.) He liked how she was the only one with enough guts to stand up to Jack, to get herself involved regardless of the consequences. He liked that she respected him because somehow, it made him respect himself a little bit more and although the cynicism remained, it shared its space with just the smallest amount of compassion.

He liked the fact that she could lie like the best of them and still not get caught, because it made her a little bit edgy and a little bit dangerous. He liked that he was the only person who maddened her enough to make her swear like there was no tomorrow because whilst he could easily lift himself to her level, he preferred to lower her down to his.

But most of all he liked Gwen because she wasn't actually his, and that made it easier because having someone meant too much responsibility and too much fear and too much loss. And Owen had been there before and he was damned if he was going there again. It made Gwen choose him when she had so much to lose and Owen would be a fool not to feel just a little bit privileged. Yeah, Owen pretty much liked Gwen for how she made him feel.

And then an odd thought struck Owen: he might just like Gwen a little too much.


	10. Out of Line

She's never seen a broken man before, but she thinks Owen more than qualifies now. He's loved and lost whilst she loves and loathes (herself, Owen, Jack even.) She's lost for words but it doesn't matter because it matches his tortured silence. He doesn't even know why he's invited Gwen round because it feels odd and she's so unlike Diane it's almost an insult (to both women, but in different ways.) They don't talk; Gwen cooks for them both and Owen holds back tears that he never lets anyone see. Gwen doesn't mock or laugh or pity – she understands and that's all Owen needs.

He admits he really loved Diane and it's hard for Gwen to swallow because there's a jealous part of her brain screaming for him to say to he loves her too, but she bites her tongue and listens. She tells him she can relate; that she loves Rhys so much she doesn't even know where to begin but he argues that she hasn't lost him.

"I think he might have lost me, though." She admits it with a slight breaking in her voice, half because Owen's state is upsetting her and half because it's true; Rhys is losing her and the daft sod can't even see it. And even if he could, what could he do? Gwen already knew the answer: nothing. He laughs a solitary laugh, even though it's not remotely funny. Rhys doesn't deserve Gwen and Owen doesn't deserve Gwen but Gwen wants them both and it tears her apart. But this wasn't about her, it was about Owen and his loss, and so she waited with him until he dropped into an alcohol induced sleep and Gwen was able to return home to an angry Rhys who went straight to bed.

Gwen sat, alone, as she thought of Emma and Diane, and Owen and Rhys and of herself, and how somehow they'd all got into a tangled mess of feelings. Closing her eyes as tears began to spill, Gwen took herself to bed, a sad smile etched on her heart.


	11. Comback

When she visits him in hospital, she can tell he doesn't want her there. But she stays, because she knows better and she knows him better too.

"I hate you sometimes, do you know that?" Her voice is teary, broken and her eyes say the same. He nods and turns his head to stare at the ceiling. He doesn't speak, so she tells him pointless drivel which amuses him slightly. She watches him, how bruised and broken he is and she wonders would Rhys do the same if he lost her?

"I told him," she chuckles nervously, as if she has to suffer the ordeal again. "Rhys, I told him. About us." Owen looks mildly intrigued, even though he called off the affair. "It wasn't pretty." She tries to laugh but it transpires into a sob which she hides in the sleeve of her jumper. "I know you didn't want saving, and I don't think Rhys does either. Seems I have a deadly effect on everyone."

With that, she runs out on Owen who, for obvious reasons, doesn't run after her. And whilst he misses Gwen, the affair was becoming too messy and with Diane messing up his head too, something had to give. Gwen runs home, her tears running just as fast. She knows he's angry because Diane chose freedom over Owen and Gwen's angry because can't he see he'll always have her? Gwen's here and Diane's not, and she doesn't think she's jealous but it's clear that she is, even just a little bit.

The next day is the first time Gwen's ever not wanted to go to work equally as much as she doesn't want to be at home. So she takes a walk and tries to remember what it's like to be Gwen Cooper, to be young and Welsh and in love. And when Jack rings to ask where she is, everything slots back into place and she's back at work, Owen's back to normal (or so she thinks) and life goes on, treading the same old line.


End file.
